


Breath and Blood

by RoseisaRoseisaRose



Series: Everyday I'm Drabbling [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drabble, F/M, I'm not picky, Pre time skip, ambiguously angsty, could be read as platonic if you want, i'm not psychic, like look maybe things will turn out okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22944541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseisaRoseisaRose/pseuds/RoseisaRoseisaRose
Summary: Cyril learns a prayer. Lysithea has a request.Written for the Felannie discord drabble challenge; this week's prompt was the Afterlife.
Relationships: Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia
Series: Everyday I'm Drabbling [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649380
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37
Collections: Those Who Drabble in the Dark





	Breath and Blood

_Oh Goddess, hear my prayer._

_Please receive this beloved person._

Cyril remembered his father, or the absence of his father. He remembered a blankness that he was told to forget. He remembered that his mother did not cry.

_When the cold rain washes the body,_

_When the bird and wolf announce the dawn._

Cyril remembered that his brother took him down to the river, the morning after a storm. He remembered the trees rustling as they approached, as the birds took flight to the next set of branches.

_Receive them into your blue breath._

_Receive them into a twinkling star._

Cyril remembered that his grandmother smiled, the last time he saw her. He remembered that he could feel bone as she hugged him. He remembered that could feel her breath tickle his ears as she laughed. He couldn’t remember why she laughed.

“It’s blood.”

Cyril turned around and saw the Alliance princess standing behind him on the steps leading out of the graveyard.

(She wasn’t a princess, he reminded herself. She was called something else. But she looked like one. And acted like one.)

“I’m sorry?” he said. He didn’t know what to call her – just Lysithea seemed too informal – so he didn’t call her anything.

She huffed slightly as she walked down the steps. “‘Receive them into your blue blood,’” she quoted back to him. “You missed a word.”

“You know the prayer,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“It’s a very famous one,” she said. “I learned it as a child. Who are you praying for?”

“Lady Rhea taught it to me,” Cyril explained, although that wasn’t what she’d asked. “I heard you killed today, in the Red Canyon. I thought, someone should pray for those that lost their lives.”

Lysithea tilted her head to one side. White hair fell across her shoulder. “And what would Lady Rhea think of that?” she asked.

Cyril shrugged. “She cares an awful lot about people, you know. Even people that no one else cares about, like the bandits.” _Like me_ , he thought, but he didn’t think Lysithea cared, so he didn’t add that.

Lysithea’s head remained tilted. Her hair was like a willow tree, or a river, when it pooled like that around her shoulders. “It’s kind of rotten, making you learn that prayer,” she said.

“Why?” asked Cyril.

“Well, you don’t really believe in the goddess, do you?” Lysithea challenged. “Why should you have to pray to her?”

Cyril frowned. He didn’t see what the issue was.

Lysithea continued, “I always hated that prayer, as a child. Do you know why we name all those things? It’s praise. We thank her for life, for a new day, for cleansing. Why should we honor her when we mourn? When she takes things away from us, why does she demand our thanks?"

Cyril didn’t want to argue with a princess about the goddess. He didn’t want to argue with a princess about anything at all. He had no business talking to princesses, no matter what their titles actually were. Still. She shouldn’t be so angry, not at someone Lady Rhea loved so much.

“I guess I don’t think of it like that,” he said finally.

She straightened her gaze. The pale willow branches brushed away behind her back. “Oh?” she asked curiously. It was amazing that she was able to look down on him when he was taller than her.

Cyril didn’t look at her. He looked over the edge of the gravestones, towards the sky. “It just seems to be a nice way to remember, is all,” he said. “To remember what we have, or what we had. To remember the people we’ve lost. To remember the ways they’re not gone.” He paused. He didn’t think he’d explained himself very well, but Lysithea, for once, didn’t cut in, so he figured he needed to keep talking. “I didn’t know those guys who died; honestly it sounds like they were pretty awful,” he added. “But I’m glad I said a prayer of mourning for them. I’m glad to have something to say. Not sure the goddess has much to do with that.”

He’d run out of things to say now, so they just stood in silence, looking at the sky. Cyril wondered what prayers, if any, mentioned the sky. He would like to learn those.

“Cyril.”

Cyril looked over at her. Her eyes were so wide he sometimes thought he could see his own reflection in them.

“Will you say a prayer for me, when I die?”

Cyril frowned again. He couldn’t swing a sword much better than those fancy nobles she fought alongside, but if she was so afraid of dying in battle, he wondered if he should ask their professor if they needed help. “I don’t think you need that,” he said. “You seem pretty strong.”

Lysithea shook her head. “I don’t mean in battle. I just mean . . . when I’m gone.”

“I thought you didn’t care much for it,” Cyril said. He didn’t understand why she sounded so insistent. Surely she’d have a family and children and all that; people who knew her and loved her and would say prayers of their own.

“I don’t care for it,” she said indignantly. She paused. “But I . . . I would feel better, knowing you were going to pray. It would make dying less uncertain, I think.”

“Uncertain?”

“Because you’re so certain,” she said hurriedly. “Does that makes sense?”

Cyril frowned. “Not really. But I promise I will, if it makes you feel better. If I still remember it. I’ve already messed one word up, who knows how many will be gone in fifty years.”

Lysithea smiled, a smile that wasn’t happy, which was the only one she seemed to have. “Whatever you remember will be fine, Cyril,” she said. “I’m sure the goddess can translate.”

Cyril stayed at the unmarked grave long after she left, saying the prayer over and over to himself until he didn’t know who he was praying for but he did know he’d never forget a word again.

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this wasn’t actually about the afterlife but ummmmmmmmmm it’s what I wrote.


End file.
